


A Thin Line

by felixfvlicis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Blindfolds, HP: EWE, M/M, Pining Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixfvlicis/pseuds/felixfvlicis
Summary: Harry has always towed a thin line when it comes to Malfoy.  Now, it's a line he desperately wants to cross -- Malfoy smells fuckingdelicious.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/gifts).



> I couldn't have done this without the help and endless encouragement of these lovely people -- _melodic_, kikimay, and ravenclawsquill. You are brilliant. Also, a huge thank you to my magical beta, amorette -- I appreciate your encouragement more than you know. To birdsofshore, thank you for a fabulous prompt, though I was so incredibly nervous to write for you. I hope you enjoy this fic. ♥
> 
> (All remaining mistakes are mine.)

**_June._ **

 

The searing sun against the bridge of Harry’s nose made him wince.  Days like this made him long for his broom, the soft summer breeze kissing his pale skin as he weaved through the clouds, calloused hands gripping the broom handle.

 

A bead of sweat formed at his nape and slithered lazily down his spine before curving around his tailbone.  He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.  Thanks to the humidity, his thin white t-shirt clung to his body like a second skin, exposing a trail of wiry black hairs, beginning just above his navel, journeying southward.  He pulled his hands from the pockets of his black jeans with a rather forceful yank, leaving them clinging to his jutting, scarred hipbones.  His black combat boots were scuffed from years of field work as an Auror, overwhelmingly heavy for a day like today.

 

He pulled the piece of crumpled parchment from his jeans pocket, hesitating on the cobblestone street.  He looked upon a small building, its obscure presence familiar somehow, the door a subdued shade of Slytherin green.  Harry stepped up to the arched window, fighting the urge to peer through the glass as he’d done at Ollivander’s all those years ago.  He breathed deeply as his heart thumped beneath his ribcage.  He’d reached his destination.

 

A bell chimed above him as he walked over the threshold.   The place was immaculate.  Dark oak shelves lined the walls, home to dozens of potions.  Sunlight streamed through the windowpane and pierced through the dark hues of liquid.  A small smile bloomed against his lips as he walked, calloused fingers trailing along the shelves, captivated by the elegant labels of each potion.    

 

He hardly noticed the shadow behind him until Draco cleared his throat.

 

“Potter,” Draco remarked, his annoyance evident.  A strand of golden blond hair kissed Draco’s lashes, the full-bodied color complementing his pale skin. It reminded Harry of his favorite ale—the cool, heavy flavor on his tongue that would sting if he clung to it too long, a desirous warning that always kept him coming back.  He _craved_ it.  He shifted his glasses so that they would sit properly against the bridge of his nose.  Draco’s shirt collar lay open against his skin. A thin line of sweat coated his Adam’s apple, before it slowly drifted downward.  His hands were tattooed with the stains of unfinished potions.  Harry followed Draco’s movements with his eyes as he swallowed.

 

 

“Malfoy,” he murmured, gaze fixed on Draco’s throat.

 

Draco sighed, resignedly.  “How may I help you?”

 

**\---**

 

_Harry swallowed thickly, his eyes fixed on Draco.  In the corridor of the Ministry, they were orphaned young men trying to pick up scattered pieces of their war-ridden lives, on the cusp of discovering the harshest realities of the Wizarding World.  This time, it was Harry who leaned forward and offered Draco his hand.  Surprise flashed across Draco’s features before he took Harry’s hand, giving it as firm a shake as he could manage before he abruptly pulled away, a shaky ‘thanks’ suspended in the air between them.  The scent of sugared lemon and mint lingered in the vacant space, Harry’s mind suddenly littered with images of Draco’s jutting hipbones, the pale, lustrous expanse of his collarbone, the dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his angled jaw—carefully crafted to fit the space between Harry’s parted lips.  As quickly as the scent enveloped him, it vanished, maddeningly obscure.  His body—and his cock—ached in protest, the beginnings of an erection pressed against his jeans.  Slowly, he turned toward the door and began his descent into the after, cursing under his breath all the while._

 

**\---**

 

“I was in the area . . . thought I’d drop by,” Harry confessed as his nails scraped against his neck, a nervous tick he’d developed at Hogwarts.

 

Draco stared, his arms folded. 

 

“I do, um,” Harry started, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he continued.  “Have a reason, for coming here.”

 

“Out with it, Potter.” 

 

Emboldened, Harry stepped into Draco’s space.  His breath hitched as he swept his tongue across his bottom lip, nursing a newly-formed split.  The mint teased his senses, sharp and elusive, before it faded into the familiar arms of sweet sugared lemon.   He fought back a shiver, eyes trained on the thin line of Draco’s mouth, still angular, but softened, his lips a shade lighter than the faintest blush that colored Harry’s cheeks.

 

“I need your help.”

 

 

 

**_July._ **

 

The blazing summer sun shoved Harry awake.   He winced, annoyed at the sun’s insistence as he sloughed the covers from his bed and trudged to the bathroom with a raging hard-on. He peeled his pyjama pants off his hips and pushed them over sweat-slicked thighs.  His cock sprang free, a drop of pre-come dangled from the tip.  His muscles pulsed with desirous tremors as he traced the slit with the pad of his index finger.  A groan escaped his throat as he stepped into the shower and the cold water kissed his skin, a devious sting, reminiscent of Draco’s mouth against his Adam’s apple buried in the dark corners of his mind, suspended in the plum-tinged shadows of evening, a dangerous illusion.

 

The dreams started the afternoon he left Draco’s shop. 

 

**\---**

 

_Third year, in the back of Professor Lupin’s classroom, Harry leaning against the brick archway, his jaw set, studying Draco’s stick-figure drawing with furrowed brows, growing more annoyed with his existence by the minute._

 

_“Why so tense, Potter?”  Draco murmured, his trademark sneer permanently etched on his lips._

 

_“Piss off, Malfoy.”  Harry spat, his fist clenched around the origami bird, dragging his nails into the paper and creating a low hissing sound that echoed off the walls of the classroom._

 

_Something devious flashed across Draco’s face as he rounded on Harry, trapping him against the wall, his palms braced on either side of Harry’s shoulders.  “No.”_

 

_Harry shivered at the sensation of Draco’s warm breath ghosting against his throat, slithering upward to his jaw, sweet mint assaulting his senses, making him dizzy._

 

_“You’re . . .” Harry breathed, stifling the groan that threatened to tumble from the back of his throat._

 

_Draco stilled in front of Harry’s parted lips, sucking all the air settled against the inches between them.  “Yes?”_

 

_“Such a . . . git.”_

 

**\---**

 

With each passing night, Harry’s dreams grew darker, more intense. 

 

_Seventeen and shackled to a chair in Dumbledore’s office, his back to the pensieve—the soft glow of turquoise light reflected in his black nest of hair.  A seductive smirk bloomed on Draco’s lips as he dropped to his knees—weighted, breathy whispers tumbled from his lips and settled in the fabric of Harry’s jeans._

 

_“This is what you want, isn’t it, Potter?”_

 

_Harry was entirely powerless under Draco’s touch, a stilted groan forcing itself from his throat as Draco ran his hand underneath the fabric of Harry’s heathered gray t-shirt, his perfectly round, smooth nails pushed deep into pale skin, birthing little half-moon scars, a supple, deep shade of pink.  A devious smile bloomed from his lips, reaching hooded eyes.  He’d penetrated the depths of Harry's mind—he knew that Harry dreamed of him hovering above his body, pinning him to the mattress, his Dark Mark coming alive, tracing down Harry's torso, lapping at the skin against his ribs, hissing desirous confessions in the dark, dripping with poisonous lust._

 

He had the same dream two nights later.  Though this one was more excruciating than its predecessor. 

 

_His body, beaded with sweat, scorched beneath Draco’s murderous touch enveloped in the darkness.  Harry shifted underneath Draco’s gaze, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, stifling a moan. Draco mouthed at his neck, grazing his teeth along his Adam's apple, releasing a final exhale against his mouth. Harry's name, laced with reverie tumbled from Draco’s lips, as if he’d whispered it to himself in the dark, an answer to a sacred prayer three years too late._

 

**\---**

 

Harry woke with the taste of stale blood against his lips.  He winced, placing a sweaty palm against his forehead in a half-arsed attempt to tame his sweat-soaked fringe. The sunrise was particularly maddening this morning, the haze of heat boiled against the windows, threatening to melt the corners of the glass.  He thought of the windows in Malfoy Manor, how the light vanished from Draco’s eyes as the Dark Lord sent the last piece of glass to the floor with a sharp flick of his wand.  Harry watched Draco’s cautious movements, as if he was weighing how much it mattered to live, how significant it’d be to die.  He was closer to Harry than he’d ever been, and he smelled nothing like the sweet, clean, mint of his youth.  His sharp, infuriating, intoxicating wit had been fed to starved wolves in the dungeons, the spark of a challenge, the love of danger extinguished from his eyes.  He smelled like fire and ash, waiting for an _Incendio_ to tumble from the Dark Lord’s lips without a second thought.

 

**\---**

 

Thoughts of Draco assaulted Harry’s mind, leaving him tangled in his sheets each morning, his cock sharp enough to cut glass.  A week passed before Harry showed up at _Elixir_ again with vials of unidentified potions that were being smuggled from Knockturn Alley and ending up in the hands of young Hogwarts students. 

 

The dark denim fabric of his jeans clung to his thighs, bunched at the knees, his Auror boots were tied in haphazard knots, mirroring the earth’s morning haze.  He stood in front of _Elixir_ , a heavy exhale falling from his lips, threatening to fog the small windowpanes.   The bell chimed above him as he stepped inside.  He reveled in the familiarity of the air before it assaulted his senses—the sharp zing of mint, dissolved by sweet sugared lemon—Draco.  Suddenly, he’s tumbling back into the dark depths of his mind— _head tipped back against the cherry oak chair, pale throat on display, Draco standing between his thighs, his whispers low and seductive, stinging Harry’s skin, and he wants._

 

“Oh, you’re here.  How _delightful_ ,” Draco drawled, a palm cupped around the back of his neck, the annoyance evident in his voice.  He longed to scowl at Draco’s choice of dress—perfectly tailored black trousers, cognac oxfords, and that same sky-blue button down from their first encounter, the top two buttons undone.  The scent of soft sugared lemon lingered in the empty space between them, its last breath settled against Harry’s wrist, a sweet, desirous whisper.  Fucking _git_.

 

Harry’s frustration urged him forward, heavy words pulsing against his tongue.  “You’re the one who agreed to assist, _Malfoy._ ”  He straightened, holding Draco’s gaze for a moment before allowing his eyes to wander over Draco’s lips.  He wondered if Draco tasted as sweet as he smelled—like those sugared lemon drops at Honeydukes, the slightest hint of pain as the outer crystals pierced his tongue, before the tart sweetness blanketed the sensitive skin. The shudder that coursed through him left him frustrated and dazed.  A flush crept up his neck as he carded his fingers through his hair.

 

Draco smirked.  “Right, then.  Let’s get started, shall we?”

 

**\---**

 

Harry’s footsteps were heavy against the wooden stairs, tiny volcanoes of dust erupting with each thunderous step.  Draco hesitated at the top of the stairs, rolling his eyes at Harry’s failed attempts to be quiet.

 

“For christ’s sake, be more careful on the way down, would you?”

 

Harry winced, his bottom lip lodged between his teeth, offering Draco his most apologetic look.

 

Draco huffed as he turned the knob, ushering Harry inside.

 

Harry stepped through the distressed doorway, nearly bumping into the sharp corner of an elongated work table, light streaming through a large bow window, reflecting into the back alleys of Diagon below.  A large cauldron adorned a weathered oak tabletop opposite Harry, vials of potions rows deep above it, along with beakers, wooden spoons, and a few spare wands. 

 

“I’ll return shortly.  Touch nothing.”

 

Harry offered a small nod and tugged at the rounded neck of his t-shirt.

 

Draco turned and walked down a small corridor no wider than the aisles of the Hogwarts Express, leaving the door slightly cracked behind him.

 

Harry ignored the way the dusty air settled in the room, as it latched onto his skin and sucked the blood from his veins.  He allowed his eyes to roam, his mind suddenly flooded with memories of Snape’s Occlumency lessons during fifth year. The dark room was illuminated by bright blue slivers of light, and his eyes focused on a light gray tufted chair in the corner.  This felt too familiar, almost as if he’d been here before.  A wandering mind was a dangerous thing.

 

The moment Draco reappeared, Harry’s breath hitched.  He’d changed, opting for a black button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his faded Dark Mark on full display.  Still, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, his angled collarbones curving in and peeking out, outlining a patch of pale, v-shaped skin. 

 

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then,” Draco urged, tipping his jaw toward the pocket of Harry’s jeans.  Harry didn’t miss the way Draco’s eyes followed his movements - a slow, careful rhythm, accentuated by a sharp jerk of his head, snakelike and dangerous.

 

“As I said, I haven’t got the slightest idea what these _are_ , but their effects . . .”   

 

Harry extended his palm to Draco.  Draco’s fingernails brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Draco’s unspoken words echoed in his mind — _danger thrives in the hands of children_. 

 

The afternoon sun shone through the windowpane, tinting Draco’s skin and smoothing out the harsh angles of his face.  He resembled the boy at the Ministry all those years ago; surrounded by a quiet vulnerability.  Brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers gripped the wooden spoon, he began to swirl it around the base of the cauldron, the initial flick of his wrist coaxing the potions to life, seducing them with the thrill of a new beginning.

 

Suddenly, the room felt too small for Harry. 

 

“Malfoy?”  Harry asked, breathless. 

 

“Hmm?” Draco replied as he nursed his bottom lip with his teeth, preoccupied with the contents of his cauldron.

 

“Do you mind if I use your loo?”

 

Draco offered the slightest nod, not bothering to look up from his workspace.

 

**\---**

 

When Harry crossed the tiny threshold of Draco’s loo, he pushed himself back against the wall, slouching, his breath coming to him in short bursts.  He knew he had to get a hold on himself, but his skin was on fire and he could feel the beginnings of an erection straining against his jeans.  When he closed his eyes, Draco was everywhere—all harsh lines and peculiar angles, patches of skin waiting, begging to be devoured.  And he smelled fucking _amazing_.  Sharp, clean and sweet, like Honeydukes in the spring and the grounds of Hogwarts in the summer, bodies of young wizards laying flush against the grass, humming with life, waiting to be pulled from the earth and _taken_ , daydreams of skin-on-skin hidden beneath puffy clouds, heavy with secret desires.   

 

He didn’t dare touch himself, though he _wanted to_.  He sighed before opening his eyes.  He walked slowly to the mirror and brushed a hand over his face in an attempt to steel himself. 

 

Leaning against the sink, his palms splayed against the counter, he was reminded of his encounter with Draco all those years ago.  As ribbons of blood pooled around Draco’s lithe body, Harry had the strangest urge to kiss him, to lick a thin stripe of his neck, to feel Draco’s pulse throb on his tongue.  He had run from the room at Snape’s insistence, willing his erection away as he stumbled to the common room, the terrified look in Draco’s eyes haunting him as Ginny’s lips found his in the Room of Requirement.

 

When Harry looked up, he saw it, the reflection piercing and bright in the mirror.  In the corner, hanging over a small white rod, was Draco’s sky blue button down—buttons unfastened, collar turned up.  He dropped his hands to his sides and inhaled, jaw clenched, before he turned to take a few steps forward.  He reached for Draco’s open shirt, running his fingers over the smooth fabric.

 

He traced the place where Draco’s collarbones would lay, the fabric tinged with a hint of salty sweat.  Biting back a moan, the pads of his fingers brushed against his bottom lip, the salty warm sensation threatened to undo him.  His tongue glided across his own pale pink flesh carefully, savoring the illusory taste of Draco’s lemon-scented skin, the undertones of mint stinging his tongue, a most painful bliss.  The familiar, hypnotic scent lingered as his fingertips continued down the spine of the shirt. He imagined his nails trailing along Draco’s skin, his hips bucking into the mattress, breathless whispers of _Harry_ falling uninhibited from his perfect, proper mouth.       

 

Footsteps echoing against the weathered wood down the hall pulled Harry from his daze.  He jerked his hand away, righted himself, and stepped out of the bathroom, smoothing his shaky palms over his jeans.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered.  Malfoy would be the death of him.

 

 

 

**_August._ **

 

Dusk settled against the clouds, blazed oranges and watery lilacs heavy with desire, the roofs of Diagon’s shops coated with their kiss.  Harry breathed deeply as he walked along the cobblestone street, the eager whisper of evening resting against his glasses.  Summer had mellowed out considerably, its blazing ache relinquished to Autumn’s seductive touch, her cool tongue pressed against its neck.

 

**\---**

 

The breeze swept pieces of Harry’s jet-black fringe to the side, their cool kiss reminding Harry of the last dream he’d had of Draco-- _straddled along Harry’s thighs, tongue ghosting along the shell of his ear, a crisp vapor enveloping them briefly before fizzling out and settling on Harry’s lips, the familiar sour-sweet bite of lemon._

 

_Harry reached for Draco’s hips.  Draco stilled and placed a thin finger against Harry’s lips._

 

_“You can look, Potter.  Don’t touch.”_

 

Harry groaned as he got himself off, not even bothering to open his eyes.  As the sun rose, he stretched lackadaisically, a thin cotton sheet draped over his hips.  Even in his dreams, Draco was maddening -- a hero’s kryptonite.

 

**\---**

 

He opened the door to _Elixir_ , stepped through the threshold and ascended the stairs with muted footsteps that Draco appreciated. A smirk, however fleeting, bloomed on Draco’s lips as he tipped his head at Harry.  Try as he might, Harry couldn’t ignore the shiver that coursed down his spine and settled against his tight hole.  He sucked in a breath as he pulled his hands from the pockets of his black jeans and assumed his usual position, leaning against the table. 

 

“It amazes me that after all these years, your posture is _still_ objectionable,” Draco mumbled, as he rolled his eyes and shifted clear beakers and flasks on the tabletop.  Harry flushed, unable to retort, too focused on the fact that Draco had been watching him.   Draco tilted his head toward the tufted gray chair in the corner.  “Sit down.  I can’t work with you hovering.”

 

Harry threw his hands up in protest, a stifled whine tumbled from his lips.  “I wasn’t—”

 

“You were.  Sit.”

 

“Still a git,” Harry muttered as he pushed his glasses up against the bridge of his nose.

 

“Watch it, Potter.”

 

“Or what, Malfoy?”

 

“I can rescind my offer to assist you,” Draco spat. “Tell me, _oh Chosen One_ , where would you be without my help?  Still stuck in Shacklebolt's office, pleading with Unspeakables or lowly Healers, grasping at straws with Weasley?”

 

Harry pushed himself from the chair and stood, his back straight, jaw clenched tight, nails scraping into his palms at his side.  He knew the line he towed was thin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“Oh, that’s _rich_.  You think you know me?”

 

Draco lifted his hands from where they gripped the edge of the worktable and rounded on Harry.  He thrust himself into Harry’s space—for the first time, nothing separated them. 

 

Draco leaned forward, his lips warm against Harry’s ear.  “Don’t I?”

 

Harry swallowed, his jaw tingling from the mint lingering on Draco’s breath.  He was everywhere, and Harry was paralyzed.  He stared at Draco, whose eyes were alight with dangerous mischief.  Harry never realized how much he’d missed it.  Harry pulled his lower lip between his teeth, a soft moan held captive in his throat.  Draco’s scent lingered, pushed itself against Harry’s mouth, settled into his skin.  Harry stumbled back into the grey-tufted chair. 

 

Draco retreated to his work table.  He held a flask of rose-coloured liquid between his thin, pale fingers.  The setting sun streamed through the window, pierced the liquid, and its hue morphed into a shade of pale pink— a perfect match for Draco’s lips.

 

“Come look at this.”

 

Harry stood and stepped, cautiously, back into Draco’s space. 

 

“Is this—”

 

Draco smirked, strangely affected by Harry’s sudden nervousness.  “Amortentia?  Not quite.  This unnamed substance mimics it. People still smell what attracts them, but its main purpose is to lower inhibitions, which is why it’s rather dangerous in the hands of young teenage wizards.” 

 

Harry sucked in a breath as he felt Draco move beside him.  The magic radiated off of his body in waves, the hiss of his Dark Mark reminiscent of the ebb and flow of the tides.  It was almost too much.

 

“What are you going to do with it?”

 

“I’m going to isolate the most potent elements of the potion and allow them to evaporate.  It’s a long, strenuous process,” Draco paused.  “One that takes two people to complete.”

 

“Malfoy,” Harry gasped, his tone light, “are you asking _me_ for help?”

 

“Do you see anyone else here?”

 

**\---**

 

“I’m going to count backward in increments of ten.  Keep your hand steady and stir.  Watch for the slightest colour change.  The moment you think you see something, stop.  Understand?”

 

Harry nodded.  He gripped the wooden spoon tightly in his palm, focus razor sharp.  The steady thud of his pulse was the only sound in the quiet room.

 

“Ten.”

 

As Harry stirred, the liquid sloshed against the sides of the cauldron.

 

“Slow down, Potter.  There’s no need to be violent.  Don’t ruin everything before we even begin.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Nine.”

 

Harry moved more slowly this time, the muscles in his shoulders pulled taut with tension.  If he moved at all, Draco would hex him into next year.

 

“Eight.  Merlin, you need to relax.  You don’t want to get stuck like that, do you?”

 

“Not helping, Malfoy,” Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

 

“Seven.”

 

Harry’s breath hitched as he felt Draco move behind him. Thin hands settled atop his shoulders, fingers pressed into his skin, the perfect balance of skill and pressure.

 

“What --”

 

“Six.”

 

Harry hummed in pleasure.  He wanted to give into Draco’s touch, desperately.

 

“Five. Keep your eyes open, Potter.”

 

Harry swallowed, righting himself.

 

“Four.”

 

Suddenly, a burnt orange color flashed across his lenses.  The spoon clanked against the lip of the cauldron as he released it.  He relaxed his shoulders and released a shaky exhale.

 

 

He froze, mid-swallow, when he felt Draco flush up against him.

 

 

“I’ve one question before we resume this arduous process, Potter.”

 

“Hmm?” Harry muttered, suddenly incapable of forming actual words with Draco so close.  He swore he felt the beginnings of an erection pressing against his arse.

 

“What attracts you?”

 

Harry felt his face heat as the realization crashed over him in waves. _Of course_ Draco knew.  He may be a git, but he wasn’t stupid.

 

“Um --” Harry started.  He longed for a distraction.  He dug his fingers into the edge of the worktable.  If he moved an inch, his knees would give out.  He was forced to breathe in Draco’s scent -- sweet lemon, salty sweat and the faintest kiss of sharp mint, attacking his mind and body with carnal aggression.

 

“I’m waiting, _Harry_ ,”

 

Bastard.  His name tumbled from Draco’s lips, settled against his neck, made something snap inside of the depths of his body. It pushed him over the edge.

 

Harry strained to speak.  He felt dizzy with Draco’s scent.  His inhibitions fell away and words tumbled from his mouth.  “The taste of sweet lemon candies I used to hide in my jacket pocket when I visited Hogsmeade.  The smell of fresh mint in the Hogwarts courtyard, tangled with the spring breeze.”  He paused, air pulled from above into his lungs.  “I snuck a glance or two at Quidditch players in the changing rooms after Saturday practice.  I imagined their skin tasted like salty sweat and earth.”

 

He felt Draco’s hand snake around his torso, his fingers slithering underneath Harry’s thin t-shirt, nails scraping against his skin, causing Harry’s cock to twitch against his jeans.

 

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry breathed, “you can’t just --”

 

Draco mouthed at Harry’s neck, licking a thin stripe of pale skin. Harry’s pulse throbbed against Draco’s tongue, eliciting a quiet chuckle from his lips, the vibration of mint against Harry’s skin threatening to undo him.

 

“What?” Draco asked.

 

Harry groaned, his jaw clenched as he sucked in a breath.  “. . . Can’t just . . . take . . .”

 

Draco smirked against Harry’s neck and pulled away.

 

“Turn around,” Draco commanded, his voice tight and raspy.  Harry wanted desperately to make him snap, make him fall apart, make him come without even touching him.  He hated him in this moment. _And yet._

 

Suddenly, the small of Harry’s back was pressed against the worktable.  A whine escaped his lips as he met Draco’s gaze.  He watched Draco’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, slow and deliberate.  Strands of his hair were slick with sweat, his silver eyes nearly opaque.  Harry’s eyes trailed down Draco’s body. His gaze lingered over the sharp angle of his collarbone, following the length of his torso, catching sight of his Dark Mark on the inside of his wrist.  Harry clenched his fists, jagged fingernails digging into his palms to keep him from reaching out and touching.

 

“Harry,” Draco whispered breathlessly.  “Tell me what you want.”

 

“I --” Harry strained, the fear of revealing too much crippling him.  He swallowed thickly before he reached out to clutch the open fabric of Draco’s shirt.  Draco followed the movement, his eyes suggestive, dangerous.  “Make me forget everything except you.”

 

Draco sucked in a breath in an attempt to steady himself against Harry’s admission.  He helped people forget every day, cupping glass vials of liquid in his palm before he wrapping them in tissue paper and handing them to each customer who walked in, the hopeful expression in their eyes seducing a half-smile from Draco’s lips.  He was the scientist, never the experiment -- those desires were buried long ago.  Though, if this was all Harry ever asked of him, he’d make sure it was worth his while.

 

**\---**

 

Evening pressed itself against the shingled roof of _Elixir_ , plum-tinged ribbons bathing in the soft glow of light from Draco’s room. 

 

“Don’t move,”  Draco instructed, his palm flat against Harry’s still-clothed chest as he backed him against the wall.  Harry inhaled, focused on the firm touch of Draco’s palm against the fabric of his shirt.  His pulse throbbed against his neck, beads of sweat threatened their descent from his nape as he listened to the sound of Draco’s footsteps against the hardwood floor, the quiet tapping sound of his shoes mimicking Harry’s heartbeat.

 

 

The air shifted as Draco stepped back into Harry’s space, holding a blindfold loosely in his hand.  His familiar clean, sweet scent numbed Harry’s fingertips as he licked his lips.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Draco pulled Harry’s glasses off and hooked them on his shirt collar.  Harry forgot what it felt like to breathe.  His lungs burned with anticipation.  He gasped as Draco’s thin fingers positioned the blindfold over his eyes.  The fabric was smooth and comfortable, like the feel of his favorite heathered t-shirt against his skin, spending spring Saturday mornings sprawled diagonally on his bed indulging in the latest edition of _The Daily Prophet_.

 

_And then, Draco was everywhere._

 

His hands worked Harry’s shirt, pulling it skillfully over his head, barely brushing the blindfold.  A moan escaped Harry’s lips as Draco’s hands settled against his hips, his perfectly rounded nails digging into the thin layer of skin.  As Harry’s body heated, Draco moved his hands inward with razor sharp focus. Skilled fingers worked the button of Harry’s jeans loose.  Draco gave a forceful yank and was rewarded with the most exquisite sight -- Harry’s cock -- curved upward, rock-hard and leaking at the tip.  Draco wrapped his chilled fingers around Harry’s shaft.  The delicious sensation of opposites threatened to push Harry over the edge.  If Draco so much as whispered, Harry knew he’d come undone.

 

Harry parted his lips and inhaled.  Draco’s scent lingered in the air, hovering above him -- crisp and effervescent, sweet and familiar -- its last breath settling against Harry’s flesh.

 

Even without seeing him, Harry knew Draco was smirking, by the way his hand curved around his cock, movements tantalizingly slow, the quiet whisper of friction in danger of being swept away by the slightest movement.    

 

Harry groaned.

 

“Merlin,” Draco murmured, “if I’d known you were so eager, I’d have done this _ages_ ago.”

 

A husky chuckle escaped his lips, the burst of warm minty air tickling Harry’s Adam’s apple.

 

Harry sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.  Draco’s strokes grew increasingly quicker, teetering on the edge of teasing whenever he deemed Harry too close, causing his thighs to tremble.

 

“Draco,” Harry breathed.  “Please.”

 

Draco’s hand stilled as his shallow breath settled against Harry’s lips.  Harry shivered.

 

“Please what, Harry?”

 

“Let me come.” 

 

 

 

Three brisk strokes later, Harry came in spurts, thin lines of milky sperm coating the floor beneath their feet.  He sighed as Draco licked into his mouth, exploring every dip and curve, laying claim to the sweet repetitious murmurs of Draco’s name that tumbled forward, suspended in the space between them waiting for Draco swallow them down, to accept their offering.  Harry pulled the blindfold from his eyes with a raspy whine.  Sweat-slicked strands of Draco’s golden-blonde hair kissed his dark lashes. 

 

**\---**

 

Harry and Draco readied themselves for sleep just before daybreak, pale yellows and grayish blues pushing against the dark of night, new beginning’s reckoning.

 

Draco padded toward the bed from the bathroom, one hand behind his back, a mischievous smile blooming against his lips.

 

“What?”  Harry offered a lazy smile.

 

“I know your secret.”

 

A heavy blush crept up Harry’s neck and rose to his cheeks.

 

Draco held up his blue button-down, his eyebrows raised. 

 

“This is my favorite shirt, you know, and now your scent is all over it.”

 

“My . . . what?  But I only touched it -- I never put it on!”

 

Draco smirked.  “I _knew_ it.”

 

Harry groaned, his head falling back against the soft down pillow.  The bed dipped as Draco crawled over his body.

 

“Seems like I have quite a bit to learn about you, Harry,” Draco whispered against his mouth.  Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as the sweet scent of lemon lulled him to sleep. 


End file.
